


The Concept of Falling

by pathsofpassion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon!Dean, M/M, Other, PWP, Priest!Cas, Twisted, threesome(?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pathsofpassion/pseuds/pathsofpassion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One demon, the hunter he's driving, and the priest neither of them can resist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Concept of Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Rough draft. Based on a gifset on tumblr that I'll link to later. Shameless smut.

Black eyes ravished him from five feet away; the demon did not seem in a hurry. And why should he be? Castiel was out of salt, out of holy water, out of everything but faith – and that was wavering with every step the abomination moved closer to him.

He understood, for the first time, the concept of falling.

Castiel was a priest. He should be praying, should be crying out to his Father and the angels and all of heaven for strength to withstand whatever this hell-spawned creature was about to wreak in his flesh. He should be screaming. He should be horrified. He should be finding the place of peace within himself and accepting his death, should be going strong and persevering and faithful into the arms of his Lord.

But damn his soul, the only reason he’d kneel right now had nothing to do with prayer.

His lips fumbled together, rusty Latin brushing between them on a whisper. “ _Exor_ … _exorcizamus te –“_

“Don’t bother,” the demon rumbled, and it was three feet away now. Two. He could reach out and touch it. Touch the body it wore, and he knew, he knew that this was just a borrowed suit of meat – just some poor hapless man who’d gotten taken over against his will. One more casualty in the war, the everlasting eternal war between salvation and damnation.

The man had been beautiful, pretty in a masculine way that startled, drew the eye, his jaw strong but his features delicate. His eyes had been green before the demon’s black swarmed them; Castiel had noticed. He was a priest, not a dead man.

A chuckle slid out of the demon’s possessed throat, smoky and dark. “He wasn’t a bystander, you know.” Fingers tapped the demon’s temple, a smirk on full lips. “He was a hunter. He knew what he was getting into with me. He lost.” The demon leaned in, and black eyes slid over Castiel from head to toe, a long lick of a gaze. Why had he stopped reciting the exorcism? He couldn’t remember. “And to tell you the truth? He’s fighting me most of the time, stubborn bastard. Still trying to get out. But you, right now?”

The demon was behind him, and those lips were at Castiel’s ear. “He’s not interested in fighting… if you feel me.”

A solid chest behind his back, hips that cradled his own, and when had he swayed against the creature behind him? When had the hands secured around his hipbones, solid and human and warm?

Oh, did he ever _feel_.

“Go, please go,” Castiel managed to speak, somehow. He knew he didn’t mean the words even as he said them; the demon knew it too.

“Will you forgive me, Father?” Hot breath trailed down the side of his neck, wet and thick in the cool air of the chapel. “I’m about to sin.”

Castiel choked on the automatic _I forgive you, my son_ in his throat, coughed and gagged on it while his head fell back to the demon’s shoulder, and when a hand slid into the front of his black trousers, he could only moan.

 

***

 

Dean knew it was fucked up.

The demon had been wearing his body for a week, evading Sam, hiding out in old junkyards and mall crowds – anything to keep one step ahead of the younger hunter. And in that week Dean had done shit he’d have more nightmares about; wasn’t hell, but these were innocents that the demon killed with his hands, civilian lives the demon shattered with its words and its violence and its lies. In hell he’d been torturing souls who’d made their bad bets and gotten thrown into the Pit, same as him.

All one long spectrum of bad, in the end, but that was his life.

Sam had gotten him out like he’d sworn he wouldn’t try to, and Dean would be pissed but he had been too busy gulping down the clean air.

And then this shit happened.

Fuck, his brother had to be losing his mind, but at this very moment, Dean couldn’t care.

He couldn’t care, because his palm was full of a priest’s cock, hard and thick and warm, and he might not be driving but he could still _feel_ everything that happened to his body – or everything his body did.

He could taste the surrender on the air, hear the whines sounding low in the shorter man’s throat. Could feel the other guy’s ass against his own dick, which was stiff and achy in his jeans. Could hear the words the demon was whispering, and fuck he hated it but fuck he didn’t, fuck the bastard was right.

Dean had stopped fighting the minute they saw Father Castiel standing at the back of his chapel, when both he and the demon had experienced the same sensation, the same thought, at the same fucking time.

**_Oh. Want_ ** **.**

Screwing a priest was not the action of a man who wanted to stay out of hell; screwing a priest while going along with the demon in his body, who was also very intent on screwing the priest, was a level of blasphemous fuckery that impressed even Dean. Who knew he could be _more_ of a greedy, selfish asshole?

Yet truth pulsed in the magnetism between them, in the helpless hunger in bitter-blue eyes. He wanted this. Gremory – fucking demon bastard – wanted this. And Castiel? Castiel was grinding into their hand and whimpering out a _yes_ despite himself. Dean couldn’t have put logic or reason to it; he’d had one or two encounters before, mostly women, where he looked at someone and thought he’d combust if he didn’t have them on the spot. And when they’d said yes and the fire’d burned itself to the ground, he’d still left. Without regret or a backwards glance.

This? this was different.

For the first time in a week, Gremory didn’t feel like he was still _looking_ for something. And Dean, Dean had never felt _this_ before. This magnetic draw to another human being, a sensation that went deeper than those first blind minutes of _I want_. Fuck if he knew this priest from Adam, but at the same time – those blue eyes were familiar. He’d have sworn he’d heard that wrecked voice crying out _please_ before. And when Gremory licked their tongue across Castiel’s pulse point, all three of them shuddered.

Whatever had its claws in his gut and in Gremory, the priest was obviously feeling it too. Dean wasn’t a good man; he wasn’t the kind to say _stop_ just because the situation was three kinds of wrong and what the fuckitude.

“ _Fine_ ,” he whispered in the shared mind-space between him and the demon. “ _Let’s go._ ” Except the words sounded on airwaves too, slipping past his lips and Gremory’s control. Castiel jerked like he could hear the difference, but the demon had slammed his grip down hard both on his command of Dean’s body and his hand around the base of Castiel’s cock, and that made all three of them groan and shelve discrepancies for later.

Maybe he should have tried harder, maybe that was his chance to get away and he blew it, but Gremory was grinding his hips into the priest’s ass and right now Dean just didn’t fucking _care_ no matter how much he should have.

_Easy_ , he whispered instead, this time honestly inside their head. _We want more than a handjob in the chapel with him. Don’t we?_

His interior impression of Gremory was a lot of teeth and flashing fangs, burning eyes. **want** **now**.

_Yeah yeah. We’ll get there. Come on. You haven’t been out of the pit in what, a century? Come on, c’mooooon, do this right._  He got a whole lot of snarling and staring, and then a grunt – and partial control of his mouth, his hands. If he tried to blurt out an exorcism he’d be shut down in a hurry, but Dean could move, could speak. Gremory still had mastery, they were just… sharing.

He wondered if they’d gotten hit with some bad hoodoo or sex magic somewhere between the motel room and the chapel.

**no. faster**.

Yeah, the demon could be a smooth-talking bastard, but he used Dean’s voice and Dean’s experience and Dean’s vocabulary to do it. In their head, he was animalistic, rawer than any demon Dean had ever talked to – on earth or below it.

Didn’t matter now. Fucker was right.

“ _Come with us_ ,” Dean growled against Castiel’s ear, hot breath on the pale skin, teeth finding the edge and pulling at it. “ _Not here_.” Not that he was all that wound up about fucking a priest in the chapel – he’d done worse things – but comfort and privacy were not exactly features of this very public space.

The priest’s head rolled to the side, his gaze directed toward a small door. Side chambers? Did he have a room in the building? _Awesome_.

Deliberate and slow, Dean worked his hand up Castiel’s cock, palming the head and squeezing it gentle-like. His fingertips grazed around the edge, a promise of _as soon as we get behind closed doors_.

The slick tug and squeeze seemed to do its work; Cas didn’t fight off their hands as Dean/Gremory pushed and pulled him down the side-aisle and to the door. Through the door. Down the hallway and to a small appointed room, mattress covered in plain sheets and barely big enough for the two-three of them. Castiel’s eyes were glazed when Dean looked into them, the pupils widening when his hands worked down to the edge of the priesty shirt and dragged the thing right off his skin.

But instead of pulling back or freaking out or remembering hey, demon, Castiel moaned and pushed into their hands and fumbled until his mouth could wrap around the side of their throat, sucking hard.

Oh, fuck him and them and all of them; this was actually happening.

_Slow_ , he reminded the demon inside him, and then he relinquished control of his hands like a coward despite the need grinding through his belly, because every implication here was just too damn much for him to swallow.

 

***

 

No explanation, no _reason_ here. And yes he’d been celibate for the last five years, but Castiel had experienced sex before becoming a priest and taking his vows; he’d felt desire in those five years, too, and never been overwhelmed by it. Never been so filled with craving, so thrumming with need, that he could not _stop_ himself from pushing his hands under the shirt the demon was wearing, from curling his hands into hot, solid muscle.

He felt as though his very soul was on fire, as though this was spiritual instead of primal, as though a landslide of righteous need had swept away all of his resistance. And that was wrong, so wrong, but it wasn’t coming from the demon: no, that was all Castiel, so much weaker and more subject to temptation than he’d ever believed.

The demon worked his trousers off, shredded away the dark briefs he’d worn beneath them, and Castiel stood naked before that black gaze as it raked him over and over, each pass of solid midnight eyes crackling electricity over his bare skin.

It was just the demon, now. For the last few minutes, the eyes that watched him with such hunger had flickered between human green and demon black, and Cas knew in his bones that it was both of them touching him, both of them wanting him, both of them predators and he their all too willing prey. He wanted to ask the boy’s name. Wanted to ask what made this different, that they could share. Wanted to ask if he’d been right, if he could hear the difference in their voices when they spoke.

But any words would break the spell over them. He only wished that spell was literal. That he could explain this madness through a witch’s curse or a sorcerer’s displeasure or a ghost’s possession.

“Pretty little angel,” the demon purred, and the tinge of humanity in its voice was gone. Castiel swallowed down fear that felt like desire. “You were named for a seraph and became a priest. And now you’re going to let a devil fuck you.” A pause, demonic eyes narrowing at him, the handsome head tilting to one side. “Twice.” He waited, and when Castiel said nothing, he raised the boy’s eyebrows. “Thrice.”

Silence. He could gain nothing by speaking with the creature, not now with lust thrumming between the three of them, and he could not deny its claims.

“As many times as we want.” The boy’s shirt was gone, and Castiel could see all the muscle and strong bone hidden from him. Broad shoulders, a thick chest – muscle born in hard work and hard living, not carved prettily out of a gym membership six days a week. A circular scar marred the other man’s chest, just above his heart. It was large, the size of a palm; Castiel wondered what had been scorched out of his skin there.

“And you,” Castiel murmured, stepping forward. This was his doom; he was not strong enough to fight it, so he would embrace it.

The demon chuckled into his hair, guided his hands as they stroked over golden, firm skin. “He would like that, the _boy_ would. He hasn’t much liked me riding him, but he’d turn on his belly for you and beg for it. Do you want that?”

His eyes flickered, and that was when the demon struck, mouth covering his like a tidal wave, heat and wetness bursting over his lips and his tongue as he was invaded. Jaw forced open, mouth _taken_ as the demon rolled their tongue into Castiel again and again, two pairs of lips stroked together messy and rough. He was pushed down by that kiss, down onto the bed and onto his back and onto his pillow, and he couldn’t breathe but it didn’t matter because the overwhelming sensation of hot lapping tongue and hard sucking lips was everything he ever wanted to feel. His mouth was swollen already, the taste of the boy’s mouth inside his and all over his lips, and he’d never cared for sloppy sex but that had blown past every other kiss he could remember.

“Names,” he gasped into the air when he could breathe, his neck arched up, exposing his jugular and bending his neck nearly in half because the demon was grinding a thigh between his naked legs and it felt that _good_.

Black eyes met his, then flicked to startled green; he’d swear the boy had been pushed into the forefront. “Dean,” the full mouth whispered, trailing wet kisses over Castiel’s ribs and biting on them here, there. “And he’s Gre –“

“Demon.” The black eyes were back, taunting; no, of course he would not let the boy share his name. But it was enough for now. Dean. Dean and the demon and Castiel.

Fingers cupped his sac, rolled his balls gently, and Castiel could only think that they were the most unholy of trios before a shattered whimper strained from his throat.

***

 

_Fuck you_ , Dean snarled in their mind, but Gremory just laughed at him and kept kissing down Castiel’s stomach. Kept dragging their lips over hot, twitching skin, pale and smooth – the priest kept himself in shape, and out of the sun.

**you’re going to. because you want to. and you will like it.**

Dean shuddered, palmed Cas’s hip, but he couldn’t deny the raw truth. He’d never sucked cock before – not _ever_ , not even when the occasional lonely trucker would have paid him a shit ton to put his mouth to use, not when the Madame of a brothel offered him over a thousand bucks to work for her for one night, not even when he’d felt the rough stirrings of attraction to other guys in that week’s boy’s locker room during high school. Years he’d spent tamping down that part of him, the part that was curious about the taste and feel of a man in his mouth, of how touching long hard planes differed from the soft curves of women. Years.

And it was all blowing out the window for one nerdy priest – admittedly a pretty badass nerdy priest – and Dean couldn’t even tell himself that the demon was making him do it. Oh no; Gremory made damn sure to yank that security blanket away from him, drew back til their control of hands and mouth were nearly equal. **have fun** , the demon taunted, and Dean had to whimper because the most damning part of it all was he knew he _would_.

Need was digging hot fingers through his belly, raking at him wholly apart from the demon’s control of him. Sliding back on his knees, Dean let his eyes track down to the sight he’d been avoiding.

Castiel was clean-cut between his legs, his cock bowing upwards, jutting from his body in an erection that would have looked painful if it wasn’t so – fuck, damn him, _fuck_ , but _gorgeous_. Red and flushed, already dripping from the stroking it had gotten in the chapel, Cas’s cock looked like Dean’s stomach felt: thick with arousal, cranked tight, starving, desperate.

He honestly couldn’t fucking help it, couldn’t even hate himself for it; he dove down and sucked as much of Cas in as he could in one smooth motion, not for any reason other than that he _needed_ to.

The priest cried out, his hands fisting in Dean’s hair, and _shit_ that felt awesome. Not as awesome as the thickness in his mouth now, taste hot and salty and foreign on his tongue. He knew he was being sloppy, messy, unpracticed and rough as he licked over the tip of Castiel’s cock in his mouth, as he swallowed down and sucked on as much of the priest as he could – but the padre didn’t seem to mind. He couldn’t fit as much down as he’d like; he was going to have to work on his gag reflex, and he thought of the girls who’d given him great blowjobs with renewed appreciation.

Dean licked up the underside again, knowing how sensitive that was for him, and got rewarded by a throaty moan that made his mouth split in a wicked smile around Cas’s hard-on. He’d always been a fast learner. Experimenting further, he tried sucking on just the tip again, running his tongue over the slit at the top and around the bloom of his head; his hand squeezed the base of Cas’s dick, slicked the precome and saliva down his shaft.

Gremory seemed content to watch, for now. Dean lifted his head up, freeing Castiel from his mouth with a quiet, wet sound, and looked down at his handiwork. Cas was wet, redder than before, slippery and hard-looking.

A swallow cranked down his throat, and a hunger burned through his veins that had nothing to do with hellfire. The demon’s comments earlier had been mocking, directed as much at the priest as at Dean himself, but…

He crawled up the muscled body beneath his, kicking his jeans off as he went. Shuddered as he felt his own throbbing erection press into Cas’s hip. The priest’s eyes were open – glazed blue galaxies, but open. “Fuck me,” he gasped out, and his voice shook because he’d never asked that before, not in this context. He’d never admitted to himself he _wanted_ that before, not beyond the sort of late night fantasies that you tell yourself are dreams, dreams you have no control over. But whatever _this_ was, whatever fucked up magic they’d gotten hit with or… shit, he didn’t know, didn’t know what was making the three of them go half-mad with lust for each other, but apparently it was strong enough to override even his ingrained self-delusion.

Castiel’s eyes cleared, and he nodded, reaching for Dean’s shoulder.

***


End file.
